


Legends Never Die

by KTfromTHEstix



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Witcher - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, PWP, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22610767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTfromTHEstix/pseuds/KTfromTHEstix
Summary: Geralt and Yennefer encounter trouble in the woods, and things do not go well for the pair.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56





	Legends Never Die

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Just a one shot with a pinterest prompt. WARNING for major character death. And smut. And swearing. And blood. And mostly smut. Not sure how that happened.
> 
> Title inspired by Legends Never Die, by League of Legends and Against the Current. Awesome song!
> 
> I've yet to read the books/play the games, only the TV series so far. Also, I’m an inexperienced writer and unbeta’d so please be patient.  
> This ship is going to kill me. That is all lol.
> 
> Prompt: “waking up beside each other, both injured”

He felt her cough before he heard it. He opened his eyes against the pain, but his usually catlike vision was blurry. Her warm body was strewn across his, and she spasmed again with another wracking cough. The smell of blood was overwhelming.

He wiped at his eyes with his free hand, his face wet with blood from a slice on his temple. His torso and right leg throbbed with burning pain, and his head didn’t feel much better. His chest rose as he took a deep breath, and she whimpered with the movement. Rubbing his eyes clear, he could see the first rays of the rising sun begin to shine through the trees at the edge of the clearing.

Her face was pressed into his sternum, fresh blood on her lips and gnarly black bruise forming on her cheekbone. _Fuck, one of her lungs must be punctured._ But she was breathing – shallow and ragged as her breaths were.He shifted to ease her off of him, and his hand was met with a wet, raw wound on her back. _Shit, shit, shit._ She involuntarily jerked against his touch with an agonizing moan.

He sat up a bit further and delicately shifted her onto the dewy grass next to him. Her skirt was gathered up high on her thigh, and he could see her leg rested at an awkward angle where her tibia jutted out from below her knee in a bloody mess.

He clenched his teeth when he got to the lower half of his own body. A deep, jagged gash ran from high on the outer part of his right hip, down his abdomen and followed his inner thigh clear to the knee. Bright red blood gushed from the wound near his groin. _Probably the femoral_ he thought, as his vision began to tilt and blur again.

Memories came flooding back. A therianthrope – a fucking _warecat_ had scented them just north of Novigrad. They’d been riding through the night, his arms wrapped around her on Roach, when the beast had bound from the thicket and taken them by surprise. The feline creatures had a notable disdain for K-9s and wolves alike. This particular creature had been abnormally big, and they had been unusually unprepared.

—————————————-

The sound of her laughter echoed through the stairwell of the inn as the tap of her high heels married with the stomp of his heavy boots. She rushed up each stair as fast as she could in skirts, the witcher close on her trail. Before she could turn into the hallway, his big hand caught hers and he spun her into his arms.

She landed with an “oomph” onto his chest, laughter still on her face. She skirted her hands along the front of his shirt, fingers tracing the ridges and valleys of his defined chest.

He lifted her chin with his fingertips, and traced one plump lip with his thumb. Heat lay behind his golden eyes, and she answered by dipping her head and taking his thumb into her mouth. His other hand tightened in her skirts at her waist as he watched her lave his finger intently.

Suddenly it was too much and not enough, as he pulled his hand free and pressed his lips to hers hungrily. She wound her hands into the thick hair at his nape and pressed her breasts against him. He answered with a throaty groan, as he cupped her arse with one big hand and wound the other into her dark curls.

Their mouths slanted over each other’s like lovestruck teenagers who didn’t know any better. She panted into his mouth and let out a low moan as he maneuvered her center against his straining cock through their clothes. _Gods,_ they were both at least a hundred years old and yet he thought he would never _not_ be desperate for her.

He hefted her up into his strong arms and she wrapped her slender thighs around his waist. She busied herself by pressing wet kisses to his jaw while he found the room they’d paid for. As he worked the key in the lock, she nipped his earlobe and growled, “ _Mine_ ”.

They burst through the door and he kicked it shut behind him with a _slam_. She knew that feral, possessive shit always got him going. The smirk on her face confirmed that she was proud of herself for knowing one of his tells. Two could play at her game.

He dumped her on the bed unceremoniously, but before she could protest at his less than tender delivery, he had flipped up her skirts, yanked down her panties and sunk his tongue into her slick center. She closed her eyes against the pleasure of his eager mouth and skilled fingers.

They’d been together for years - he knew to circle _around_ her clit with his thumb, and how she liked the feel of his rough facial hair against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. If there was no beard burn the next day, she wrote to the complaint department. He grinned against her.

She leaned up on her elbows and bunched up the skirts against her belly so she could watch him. It wasn’t long before her legs were trembling on his shoulders and she was grasping at the homespun quilt on the bed for purchase. She arched her back and moaned long and loud as he coaxed her climax and eased her through the shudders that wracked her small frame.

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. With a flick of her wrist their clothes were folded neatly at the head of the bed, his medallion and her pendant resting on the top of the pile.

He rested her legs back against the bed, pressing kisses to her soft belly and leaving a trail of her slick from his mouth and chin.

“Come here” she beckoned him softly. He shifted over her body, her smooth thighs resting against his, thick with muscle as he straddled her. She took a moment to appreciate his handsome features, chiseled jaw, patrician nose, striking gold eyes. That perfect mouth that muttered filthy things in her ear, yet was polite to little old ladies and effortlessly wise. Even that quirky eyebrow of his. That was one eyebrow that would never be tamed. Even then, he arched it as if to inquire whether they would be spending the rest of the evening staring into each other’s eyes.

If she wanted to stare at him all night, he’d give her that. It would give him a chance to stare back. He trailed his calloused hands over her rib cage to cup her breasts. It was unlike him to ignore them for any amount of time. A crime really. He dragged his thumbs over her pebbled nipples as he appreciated her perfect, pouty lips and her delicate bone structure. Her violet eyes flashed at his touch, and that seemed to break her from her reverie.

He bent to worship her breasts with his mouth, licking and suckling the way he knew drove her mad. She tangled a hand in his voluptuous white hair and gave a less than subtle tug as she wriggled her hips. She gasped, and he groaned around her breast as her warm center made contact with his swollen length.

She wriggled again and chased his hips with hers. “Geralt, _now_ ” she demanded under her breath. Some nights he would make her ask with a pretty please, but that night wasn’t one of them. He reached down between them, and entered her swiftly with a grunt. She was plenty wet, but it was always a tight fit between them. He rested his damp forehead against hers while she adjusted to him. For a man so _big_ all over he was always so tender with her. Until she begged him to be rough, and even then she could tell he always held back, afraid of hurting her.

She leaned up to seal her lips to his and urged him to move with her hips. He set a steady, brisk pace and they kissed messily when their lips neared. Her fingers raked down his sweaty back and he repositioned one of her legs, changing the angle of his thrusts.

There wasn’t a possibility anyone else staying at the inn that night didn’t know what was going on in their room. Between the bed making contact with the thin wall, her moans and sighs, and his grunts and occasional groan - it was fairly evident. The thought made him grin.

“Hold this love,” he wrapped her hand around the thigh he’d been holding, and reached down in between them to play at her clit.

“Ah! _Fuck”,_ she hissed out as her legs began to twitch around his pistoning hips.

His hips stilled, he leaned back over her, one arm braced above her head and the other rhythmically tapping her clit. He bit her shoulder softly, his teeth would leave a mark but not break the skin.

“Ugh!” she shouted as her center began to clench around him.

“Mine” he growled, bathing the small red mark with his tongue.

Still shaking around him, she panted out, “Yours. Ah, _only_ yours.”

He growled again and with a few more strong pumps of his hips he emptied himself in her with a shudder.

He rolled off of her, chest still heaving and she followed, catching her breath.

They climbed into the bed languidly, and she pressed lazy kisses to his chest where she was tucked against him. He kissed the crown of her hair.

Her fingers slid over the mark he’d left on her collar bone. “Bloody wolf” she teased him under her breath. He’d done worse to her skin, she’d begged him to in the past, but she always pretended like she was affronted after the fact.

He reached behind his own shoulder and his fingers came back with a small smear of already drying blood, drawn by her nails. “She-wolf” he countered before nuzzling her neck and inhaling her scent. She smiled at his comment. Lilac, gooseberries, something uniquely “Yen”, and _Witcher_. To his enhanced senses, she wreaked of him. The combination smelled like _home_. 

He brushed his fingers through her hair. “What has caused you to be _extra merry_ tonight Yen? I think we left full plates of food down in the tavern. Are you so very happy to see her tomorrow?” he asked.

“Our daughter has _met_ someone. A man. A man whom she has determined worthy enough to be introduced to, and judged by, her epically grumpy and strict parents.” she explained.

“I can barely contain my happiness for her.” she gushed in a very _un-Yen_ like manner.

“Don’t get too excited, we’ll see about this _boy_. She has a habit of taking in strays and misfits.” he countered. He highly doubted anyone would be good enough for her in his eyes.

She tsked against him and met his eyes, “Like her parents?”

He rolled his eyes. “We’ll see. I want her to be happy. A simple gelding of the man will make _me_ very happy.”

He silenced her protest with a firm kiss. “Sleep woman, or you’ll be asleep atop Roach in the morning.”

“Actually, could we go now? I’m not tired.” Excitement danced in her eyes.

“You want to ride through the night and surprise them in the morning?” He had to admit, he wasn’t that tired either, and surprising the _prospect_ in the morning would give him a nice advantage.

He sighed. Arguing was fruitless, truly, he could deny her nothing.

“Fine. But put that cloak on. I’ll not deliver my daughter her mother wracked with pneumonia.” he admonished.

She planted a passionate kiss on his lips and bounded off the bed to dress.

——————————————————-

His body arched off the ground and a roar reverberated through his chest.

“Geralt, shhhhh.” Her voice was like bells in his rushing ears, soft and twinkling.

He pried his eyes open to see her kneeling against his chest, folded cloth pressed against his middle in an attempt to stem the blood flow. She’d pulled the knife from his boot and sliced off a portion of her thin cloak. Once a light grey, it was now black with his blood.

She closed her eyes and he could tell she was trying to summon a healing spell. It wasn’t working. She couldn’t even keep herself upright against him, her own breaths harsh and pained.

“Yen – “ he groaned, “Yen, it’s alright. Let it go.” He graveled and rested his hand on hers.

She shook her dark locks in defiance and pinned her other hand to his over the wadded up cloak. He didn’t know if he could even feel the pressure she was applying any longer. Dark spots began to cloud his vision.

“Love, you’re swallowing down blood. I can tell.” He ground, jaw clenched. His arms began to feel heavy, and he let his head lull back against the grass.

“So what if I am,” she rasped. “I’m not going to sit –“ she coughed “here and watch you bleed out.” Even as she said the words, tears began to streak down her face. Hand still on his wound, she leaned her chest against his and nuzzled her soft cheek to the stubble on his.

Neither of them could go for help – her leg was clearly broken and it wouldn’t be long before her good lung succumbed. If he even attempted to stand up, his heart would likely push the rest of his blood out through his middle in a few steps. Any medical supplies they had were still saddled to Roach. He hoped the horse had fled to safety fast enough.

They were right fucked, and he was starting to feel cold.

“I love you.” He whispered softly and feathered a kiss to the shell of her ear. Her shoulders shook with a sob. She finally let go of the soaked cloak and brought both of her bloody hands to his jaw.

“And I you, my white wolf.” She brought her trembling lips to his. He closed his eyes, hand pressed warmly into her side, mindful of her back. Tears fell from her cheeks onto his as he relished in the feel of her sweet mouth one last time. 

She broke contact to pull in air with short, panting breaths. She coughed again, gagging for a moment, fresh blood coating her hand.

His lay still, eyes unfocused. His hand had slid from her ribs during her fit.

“Geralt!” she pressed her fingers to his face, tapping softly as if to rouse him. Her body convulsed with more coughing. The blood ran down her chin onto his jerkin.

“Ger-alt” she moaned brokenly into his neck. Her hand rested over his heart, the chest plate unmoving. The air around her was beginning to spin, and she felt dizzy. She sucked in quick pants of air through clenched teeth.

She wrapped her arms around his chest and tucked her head under his chin. She let her eyes fall closed, ear and chest pressed tightly against him. Her pants became fewer and farther in between, until the last, when she pulled only blood.

The sun rose above the tree line in the clearing. The last dawn the witcher and mage would grace with their presence. But all was not lost, as legends never die.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have Yennefer a bit OOC in the "carefree/excited" dept for a hot minute, but I selfishly wanted the contrast in mood to be even more extreme.  
> Please be kind :) Thank you!


End file.
